Chapter 10
Cassie
“You two are really driving all the way to Mesquite?” Quinn asks with wide eyes.
Lincoln dropped me off at the office after I insisted, stating that I needed to touch base with Quinn before we left. Then, we'll swing by the house to get some last-minute supplies before heading to Mesquite.
He wouldn't have dropped me off if he knew I wanted to talk with Quinn about how we will figure out what he's really up to. It's not like I want to hold an all-out intervention, but I'm tired of being on the outside waiting for him to share.
“Yes, we are. It should give us a lot of time to talk about things. Speaking of which, didn’t you think it was weird the way Lincoln brought up Nathan Thornton this morning?”
“Did I think it was weird?” Quinn pulls her messy hair back into a bun, just like it was a few seconds ago, only a little less messy. “I was sending you as many silent signals as I could. ”
“Good. I'm glad we're on the same page. So, maybe we need to figure out what's going on with Nathan and his real connection to Lincoln. Maybe it has to do with him spending so much time around Phineas.” I lean forward, keeping my voice low in case Lincoln is outside with his ear pressed to the window.
“That sounds like an actual plan. I thought he was acting strange, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions.”
“You're not jumping to conclusions.” I let out a long sigh. It's a relief to know Quinn has noticed Lincoln’s strange behavior, and it's not just me. I was momentarily worried that my feelings were playing with my head.
Keeping my emotions separate from my work has always been hard, and dealing with Lincoln is no exception.
“Whenever we hang out together, I feel like something is off. I need to figure out what that is. He is definitely involved in something he shouldn't be, and I think Phineas has something to do with it.”
Quinn nods. “I’m on your side.”
What if I’m wrong, and what I’m planning is an invasion of privacy? It will do me no good to think that way.
“Do you think we should confront him about it?” Perhaps my approach of sneaking behind his back isn't the best. Quinn looks worried.
“Absolutely not. He won't tell us a thing. Let's find out everything we can about Nathan Thornton and what his connection to Phineas might be. We can look into the Thornton family as a whole, and who knows? Maybe Lincoln is right, and he doesn't have to know about us looking into him.”
Quinn pushes her glasses a little further up on her nose. “I hope you have a good trip, and call whenever you can. I'll keep you updated on what I find here. Let me know if you guys run into anything interesting out there.”
She gets back behind the computer and starts to type as I hear the station wagon pull up outside. I stand to go, then look back at her.
“Thank you for having my back on this.” We haven't known each other that long, yet I feel closer to Quinn than any of my friends in the past.
“That’s what friends are for.” She grins, and a dimple appears on her cheek. It's barely there and hard to notice, but I've seen it a few times when she's really happy. “It's exciting to work undercover, even if it is against one of our own.”
Lincoln honks the horn, and it's time to go. I wave to Quinn one more time before I rush out of the office.
“You ready for eight hours of driving? Assuming everything goes well, we'll get there a little past midnight.” Lincoln adjusts the mirror and backs the car up before turning it around. “Hopefully, we can put this whole thing to rest in Mesquite.”
“I hope Anita is okay. I've been thinking of all sorts of things that might have happened to her. We’ve never really dealt with a case like this.”
“Hmm.” Lincoln’s eyebrows furrow, and he looks thoughtful for a moment. “What sort of things do you think might have happened to her?”
“I don't know. Was she on the run from someone important? Someone powerful? What does it have to do with me? Why did she want to talk to me?” I shake my head, trying to push away the anxiety I have toward the whole thing. “It's probably silly to think about. ”
“It’s perfectly logical to think about. You are an investigator, just like your old man. He would not stop until he got all of the answers. It was like he was addicted to the truth. Considering all the addictions out there, that's not the worst to have.”
“What is the worst to have?”
“I can't answer that. But I know some will destroy your life while you cling to them, feeling like you can't let them go.” Lincoln stares off into space, and I think about his words. It sounds like he's had personal experience with addiction. I can't think of a single time when I've heard of him being out of control of anything.
If he did have problems with addiction, has he slipped back into them, and that’s why he’s been lying so much? For some reason, I can't imagine Lincoln dealing with something like that alone. Surely, he knows Quinn and I care about him enough that he can come to us.
He presses the radio button and fiddles with the dial until it finds a station. He reaches to change the station, but I grab his hand. Heat spreads through me, and I immediately drop it.
“This is my favorite song,” I explain with a shrug.
“Are you sure you didn't just want to hold my hand?”
“I’m positive.” No, I'm not. I enjoyed the brief moment of contact much more than I should have. What is wrong with me? I'm going to be stuck with Lincoln in the car for more than eight hours. I can't afford to lose my head in the first five minutes.
“All right then. And by the way, I hate this song.”
“What? How? This is literally old-people music.” He whips his head around so fast his eyes almost roll in his head .
“Don’t tell me you’re starting with the old people thing now, too. I’m not that much older than you.”
Laughter bubbles out of me. It feels good to tease Lincoln. Back in the day, we were constantly at each other’s throats—in a friendly way, of course. Sometimes, I worry we will lose that if we keep working together. We disagree on so many things, and he’s hiding so much. I don’t want to lose our friendship, no matter what happens.
Maybe that’s another thing holding me back from pursuing something romantic with him. I’m afraid I'll lose him forever if things don’t work out. Thinking about it makes me serious. I am terrified of losing anyone else in my life.
Link
“Do you want anything from inside?” We stopped in front of a gas station about four hours into our drive. My leg is throbbing, and I need to ask Cassie to switch with me, as much as it pains me. I’m not a good passenger driver; I enjoy being the chauffeur through and through, but my leg is betraying me.
“I’ll take a coffee from one of the instant machines and get me some of those sour candies—the stretchy ones.” Cassie hops out of the passenger seat. “I need to use the bathroom.” She runs off before I can respond. Apparently, it’s an emergency.
The gas station is barely a store at all. It’s just a tiny building with shelves to the ceiling. It’s in the middle of nowhere, but at least it’s well-stocked with junk food. Seeing as it’s the only gas station for quite a while, they must enjoy the majority of the customers passing through. I grab what Cassie wanted and add some snacks of my own to the pile before carrying it all to the front to pay for it.
Stuffing everything into a white plastic bag, I return to the station wagon. Somehow, I have enough time to go to the bathroom and back before Cassie. I’m wondering if something went wrong when she finally shows up, walking across the parking lot leisurely, not paying attention to anything in particular.
The setting sun lights up the side of her face, making me smile. She’s glowing like an angel. What would it be like if we’d given things a chance? Maybe these sorts of trips would have been a common occurrence for us. I know her father and I went on stakeouts and trips like this. Of course, it was a little different—two guys hanging out.
“I got you the original cappuccino and a couple of fixings if you want to change it. There’s like a hundred different flavors to choose from.”
“That’s fine.” She shrugs. “As long as it can have more milk than coffee, I think I’m good.” She grabs a few of the little containers of creamer I brought and dumps them into the coffee one after another, even though it’s already a cappuccino. By the time she’s done, it definitely fits the description of more milk than coffee.
“That’s disgusting. Coffee should be drunk black with a sprinkle of sugar. After all, it’s just for the caffeine, isn’t it?” I like the taste of coffee, but I like the bitter, overwhelming feeling. None of that sugar and cream stuff.
“No, it is not just for the caffeine. It is for the experience. Clearly, you’ve never had a good coffee and donut. Have you ever had a cappuccino? Or coffee with milk?” She looks over at me as if I’ve grown two heads.
“Yes. When I was around fifteen, I tried some coffee with a little bit of milk, and I didn’t like it.”
“That does not count.” She shakes her head, reminding me of a disappointed mother reflecting on her shortcomings in raising her children. “When we get to Mesquite, we’ll find a good café and get you a proper cup of coffee and a pastry. Only then can you make a final judgment about what type of coffee is the best. I have a feeling it will change your view on it.”
I laugh and shake my head. “You underestimate how set in my ways I am. Besides, I would take a cold Coke over a coffee any day.” I hold up my bottle and give it the smallest of shakes, making my point.
“Do you know how unhealthy that is for you? It’s full of sugar. Way more than my coffee.”
“Do you want to bet on that? I don’t think you saw how much you just dumped into that cup of poison.” A laugh makes its way through my chest.
“Oh!” Her eyes widen. “It’s my turn to drive.” She jumps out of the passenger side and rushes around to mine. She gives my handle a wiggle and pulls it open. “Keys.” Her palm goes out flat, demanding control of the car.
“Are you serious?” My leg is acting up more than ever, so it’s a blessing in disguise, but I hate to give up driving privileges.
“Yes, I mean it. Come on, give them up.”
I hand them over with a sigh and take my demotion to the passenger seat. A smug smile graces her lips as we pull out of the gas station parking lot.
We’re both quiet for a moment, munching on our snacks and enjoying the view. Montana has some beautiful landscapes, and we’re taking everything in since we will essentially be driving in the dark for the next four hours.
“Did my dad talk about me during those last few months?” Cassie’s voice drops to almost a whisper, and her change of topic catches me off guard.
I was worried we might get to talking about Robbie on this trip. It has to be talked about, something that sits between us whenever we’re in the same room.
“Your dad always talked about you. Not just in the last few months. He was very proud of you.” My tone softens.
Her grip tightens on the steering wheel.
“Do you blame me for not being there? For leaving you to take care of him at the end?”
“No! Goodness, no. Why would you even ask something like that?” I glance at her, then turn back to the road. Am I upset at her for not showing up? Even when her dad was on his deathbed, asking about her every single day? Asking to read her letters, to hear her voice? “I mean, I’m not upset at you. I just… sometimes I would ask myself why.”
“I can’t explain it. I think I just panicked. When I heard the news about my dad, I kept telling myself I was going to go back and that there would be time later on. And then it was too late.” Her shoulders sag, falling under a thousand bricks of weight. “Maybe deep down, I was scared of watching another parent leave me.”
“He loved every minute when you called. He hung on for those calls.” It feels like someone is squeezing my chest with their fist.
“I should have called more. I should have taken a break and come back and visited. You know, when I called, he always told me he was feeling better. He made it sound like he would get up, walk down the street, and return to his normal activities any minute. It’s no excuse, but maybe I believed him.”
Her voice sounds as broken as I felt during those days. Watching the man who was my mentor, the man who rescued me from a terrible life, fall into despair, watching him pass away right in front of my eyes—it was a lot to deal with.
It seems Cassie went through her own difficulties and faced those demons in a different way. It’s a pain that she’s driving, and I can’t pull her into a hug, because both of us could use one about now.
“Hearing you explain your side makes things better, you know? I don’t blame you for not coming back, Cassie. Your dad was my friend, my partner. There was no way I was going to leave him, whether you were there or not.”
The touching moments we spent together during those last days flash through my mind. It hurts that Cassie doesn’t have those memories of her dad. Of course, she had occasional phone calls and letters, but it wasn’t the same as being there.
“I’m just like my mom, aren’t I? She left both of us without ever looking back. And I left my dad. He never spoke about her after she left, you know. I would ask to know what happened, and he just wouldn’t say.”
She looks over at me, her blue eyes pools of tears.
“You’re nothing like your mother, Cassie. You did come back. It didn’t happen right away, but you were there for your dad. He wanted you to go and follow your dreams, and eventually, you made it back here. ”
She nods and turns her attention toward the road again. I can feel that she has not been able to forgive herself. Guilt is a heavy thing to deal with. I’m not sure I’ve even learned to cope with it over the years.
I wish, for the life of me, that Cassie didn’t have to deal with it. The things she’s talking about—they’re the type of things that can eat away at your head, tearing you down bit by bit as your inner voice works against you. I just wish I could say something to set things right for her.